CONTACT
by Riley Killer
Summary: Kisame/OC One-shot


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto.

Inspired one-shot off of a roleplay, and the character in here is one that I use in multiple stories on this site. If you've read them, you may know.

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><p><strong>CONTACT<strong>  
><em>(Noun)<em>  
><em>A state of condition of physically touching<em>

The feelings of contact are something that can become craved at times. Desperately pulling at one's inner beings and pleading with those who know it the least to sate the need.

He had never expected it from her though. The way her body would stand tall and her eyes would stare forward. Head up, chest out. She was so weak in comparison to his strength, to the way he could kill her, but that personality was what shot it into perspective for him.

She would never die by his hand, or anyone else in the Akatsuki. This was a fact she believed; in fact he highly doubted she ever thought she would be killed at all. The way she ran head on into a battle she had no way of winning, or tangled verbally with those who's tempers were accompanied by violence. Somehow managing out okay each time.

An enigma of recklessness, stubbornness, and pride, wrapped into a 5' 6" body of softness and curves. He wasn't used to having to take care of such fragile things, and while physically he believed her to be glass, mentally he saw something else.

When she was first placed underneath his care, he had seen nothing but a small, lost, female that had no idea of what was going on. Not used to where she was, and the simple act of taking a shower and a good night's rest on his floor in a futon had immediately pulled that act away.

He found a hell cat that's flames were on neutral and when she was angered raging and hissing, spitting along with that uncontrolled chakra in her system. Some might call her stupid, he did for the longest while, and still did every now and then. To her face too, however she'd simply shrug it off and claim not to care.

_"You're not me, so I don't expect you to see it like I do."_

She had a truth and she'd claim it, but she would find others and see it that way as well. There was no definite Truth, just the ones she could see and the empty spaces of the unknown in between.

The first time she even gave him a hint, he had let it go with out much thought. The window had been open and the rain in Ame had turned to snow. She had joined him in his bed that night and lay with her back against his own. The shared warmth he noticed later had kept her from becoming a shivering little thing.

He had never cared much about any other contact; it was something he enjoyed now and then. The company of another and the feelings of being intimate. He liked the thought of a body against his own and waking up to it with out the thoughts of it killing him.

However he had long since given up on the notion given how unlikely it was. He had numbed himself to it and left it under that category of "best left forgotten."

He hadn't realized her mere being had been so restrained with the way she smiled and pat him on the shoulder when he had a scowl on his face. Or the way she hovered lightly by him while moving. The way they'd spend time at night, him cleaning the sharkskin blade while she sat on the window ceil and watched the rain.

He would have never guessed she was wishing for any of the gestures she gave to be returned. Wishing but never expecting. He wouldn't have guessed that she was begging quietly for someone to come and grab her, claiming her and giving her mind a moment of rest that it couldn't be gained else where with in her own being.

Not with her natural dominance.

Not with how her relaxed position as he would move across the room, sometimes fresh out of a shower with only a towel on.

Never with how her eyes would flick to him and then move away, as though the thought of looking back never came through.

He never expected it.

Not until he woke up one night to her shivering and awake, before her hands began to move underneath the covers and stroke her own skin to warm her up and her eyes shut as she painfully tried to focus.

On someone else being the one that was attached to her hands.

On the fact maybe someone would come to her and know how to touch her like she wanted to be touched. Clawing one moment and soft the next, firm and demanding but coaxing and easy.

He had been with other women, and he was happy to say so even. He enjoyed playing the dominant role, and having his way. Finding it to be more enjoyable when it was one both parties behest. Rather than just his own. Unfortunately that was usually not the case though.

So when he had laid for a good hour, saying nothing, just watching as she focused solely on herself, her lips even moving into words he could sometimes make out.

_"Focus on here…. Now…. Focus…"_

_ "Just feel…"_

He began to notice it.

Her eyes after she would set a hand on his shoulder and give a light squeeze would spark with something and then drift away. The way she greeted the other under their watch was usually in an embrace of close contact, however brief and nothing too whom which he viewed at night.

Sometimes he would see a small frown go on her face after an argument with a passing member. Or if he caught her dancing on her own which he did at random moments, playing worshipper to her own untrained but well shaped form.

She was a proud individual, so it only made sense that he wouldn't have seen it before. That she would hide that need for contact, that dire want for someone close to be intimate. It only made sense; he hid his own emotions for more than a good chunk of his life.

Why wouldn't someone else who was plagued by loneliness to such an extreme extent that they had become practiced in hiding it as not to drive away company and companionship?

He had held no sympathy or pity for the matter, though he did possess an empathy that trailed behind him all the way since child hood.

The need for intimate contact was not something gained lightly from those restrained their mind. Those that held back the want to pounce someone attractive or just feel another's skin against their own, to have that simple friction of difference. A hug, a stroking of the face, a hand moving over the stomach, on the side.

She was attractive enough, so he didn't understand the matter except that the personal restraint she placed down on herself oppressed it all.

He finally confronted her about it on a casual chat one night a week or so after he began to pay attention and knew the signs. And then she had surprised him, looking at him calmly and quietly looking away.

_"I don't want someone that's just gonna be around for a quick fuck Kisame. I'm not some toy to be used. No matter how at times I wish I was."_

It was resolve. She craved it desperately, but that resolve no matter how much strain was placed underneath it she wouldn't allow to break. She had to be in control, because that was who she was.

He didn't make the connection until he asked her why she didn't try and find someone. And she finally had an answer with a bitter smirk.

_"Do you just throw dominance to the first person that gives you pretty words and let them have it. Or do you make them fight for it and keep them on guard that you might one day take it back so they can't take it for granted?"_

She wanted intimacy and contact, however she wasn't going to give it to just anyone who asked.

He had finally understood it when she had long since gone to sleep, sitting quietly in his bed staring down at her slumbering form.

She had no desire to give up control of her being willingly. She knew her being and she knew how she was. She was too familiar with her behavior and actions, because of how long she had been on her own to learn them herself. She _knew _who and what she was. And what she was, was a creature that was taught to fight for what she wanted tooth and nail.

And that was how she wanted it in the end. To have a second party that could take the controls from her. But also later, not take advantage of it and give it back.

She wanted that sentimental bullshit called love. But more so, she wanted someone trusting enough to hand it to. Because that's what he figured it came down to her. Contact and trust went hand and hand.

And she hadn't found anyone yet that was strong enough to show her trust in, showing that they could play hardball with her. So she kept the trust to herself, and played herself like she did them.

With them never seeing it.

However he always did, learning the way she played, using nails and arching. Clenching and hissing. Never going too far, only going enough to get relaxed, always focusing off elsewhere.

She wanted someone to bring her into the here and now, and someone to know how to play the game like she did.

So after he spent time, watching her while she thought him to be asleep.

He made sure to show her, he did.


End file.
